3 April 1619

Nineteen months old. He'd be nineteen months old. I can't believe it. I'd write more if I wasn't afraid of blurring the words with my tears.

5 April 1619

We received an invitation today. A boy, one of the palace messengers (usually they're messengers before they're guards), came to the door and handed us a letter on fancy paper, with gold and pink on it everywhere. Candas's style. It invited us to a palace function in July, celebrating her father's birthday. I don't know why she invited us. She's been around town more than usual lately, with Orvill (who I avoid at almost all costs) and Grantt (who I try very hard to be nice to even though he's frightening and strange). Usually they visit with Patrik (who I also try to talk to sometimes because we were close when we were children and I know most others don't like him), and with us. Orvill grumps about the tea because it's not the high-quality tea of the palace, but I've had some of their tea and I think it's bland.

I think that's the longest I've written about something other than my baby boy in months. At least the idea of the palace and all that is taking my mind off things for a little bit.

I assume we'll go, but I'm going to ask Candas about it next time we're in town. I don't trust her very much, to be frank.

9 April 1619

Patrik met me at work today, as I was leaving. I asked him why and he said he'd like to walk me home. I let him and we chatted about things. He didn't ask about my little Luke, even though he must know, and I appreciate that because I can't stand to talk about it when there's people watching me cry. We just chatted about nonsense until we got to my home and I asked him again why he'd walk me home. He just said he'd like to make sure I'm safe.

We visited Luke's grave today and planted some forget-me-nots. I'll never forget him. I used to pretend when someone died they grew back as a forget-me-not. I wonder if Luke will grow back as a forget-me-not so even when we are long gone, someone will remember him.

12 April 1619

I think the last of the snow has melted. It always stays a long time into April, but it's starting to melt now. I only noticed because there's a pile of snow I pass on the way home and Patrik pointed it out today, that it was gone (he walks home with me every day now).

"The snow has melted."

"I suppose it has."

"Do you think it will rain soon?"

"Patrik, you don't have to make conversation if you don't want to."

"Oh."

He stopped talking.

"If I would like to make conversation-"

"Go ahead."

So we conversed about the weather for the rest of the walk. I feel like he's trying to make amends for how awful he was to us. I remember when I was fifteen and I saw him in the market and I called out and he looked down his nose at me and told me he didn't speak to peasants.

Sigmun and I talked about little Luke today and it hurt, but there was a little lightness to it. I cried, but at the same time remembering him made me smile a little. It hurts, still, like being stabbed, because now that the numbness is lightening it hurts that much more. And it hurts because I wish so very much I could have him back, I want him back in my arms so I could hold him and tell him I love him, and I want to raise him like I should have. I still…I still think I failed him. I should've protected him. I should've kept him safe. I should've.

16 April 1619

I swore I wouldn't be like my mother, I promised I'd never be like her, but I am like her. I didn't protect my baby. My mother never protected me, and I didn't protect my little Luke. I'm no better than her. I'm just as bad as she was.

I started crying today when Sigmun was in the library and Dolora was in town and Simonn was cooking. I was alone upstairs and I cried because I failed and I'm just as bad as my mother and I'm so sorry but I can't do anything now. I can't.

17 April 1619

Simonn was awake downstairs last night again. I can't sleep very much these days and I heard him making tea.

"Simonn?" I said once I'd gotten down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"It won't go away!"

"What?"

"It won't go away! I keep dreaming about…about us dying! It's not fair, nothing is fair!"

"Simonn, what are you dreaming about?"

"I don't know!"

"Here, your tea's done."

"Thanks."

We sat in silence, and Simonn was shaking all over. "It's not fair," he said again. "In the dream. Sigmun is screaming and there's cold hands and chains and I can't see and I hear Dolora scream, I hear you talk and then…and then nothing."

"Nothing?"

"My head goes all funny and I can't understand anything and I can't see…it's awful."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I just…it's not fair!"

"Nothing is fair," I said, and it felt true. Nothing is fair. If things were fair my little Luke would still be alive.

He shook his head. "Go to bed. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I just need to sort it out."

He seemed calm enough to not do something stupid (he doesn't talk about it much but I am dead certain he drank his way through this at least once) so I went back upstairs and tried not to think about how nothing is fair.

I'm running out of pages. This is the last one. I need to find my next journal. I can't stop writing now.

29 April 1619

I found the new journal, quite obviously. I don't have to stop writing.

I asked Patrik today about why he never came in for tea. I've invited him every time and he always turns me down.

"I feel it would not be appropriate."

"Why not? You're my friend."

He glanced down at his shoes and I felt something akin to anger.

"If you've been walking me home because you're trying to court me may I remind you I am married and I had a child and if that's the only reason you were ever kind to me-"

"No, no!" he said. "I do not believe your family would enjoy my company. That is all."

"Patrik, if you're my friend you're theirs. That's how it works."

He kept looking at his shoes. "Perhaps another time. My uncle is expecting me home."

"Alright. See you, Patrik."

"Goodbye."

He's ridiculously formal and I don't know if he still feels guilty or if it's just the way he talks. I suspect sometimes English isn't his first language. Perhaps my multilingual abilities aren't the most common but most nobility speak more than one language. Perhaps no one taught him English first.

It is also somewhat a relief to find he's not trying to court me, because much as I'd like to make friends with men, for the most part it seems they only give me the time of day because they think I'm pretty (yet another reason I prefer my husband and my best friend's company). It's nice to know at least one man outside my family just wants to be my friend as much as I want to be his.

3 May 1619

Twenty months old. Almost two years. He'd be getting so big, really a toddler. He'd be playing with new toys, splashing in the creek, starting to pull together a few new words. I bet he'd be starting to learn how to say no, and he'd probably be objecting to learning to eat and other things like children do. He'd be growing up like children do and he'd be learning to play. Maybe we'd even bring him to the village sometimes to play with the other children. I know it's not healthy for children to grow up without friends, even if they do have parents who love them.

I couldn't find my new journal to write in (Even though I found this new journal a few days ago and wrote then, I haven't felt like writing since. Sometimes I have this horrible feeling of just never wanting to do anything ever again. I just want to lie in bed for the rest of my life). My old one was full and I just can't remember things the way I used to. I can't be that old. I can't be so old I start to forget. I'm not even thirty!

I missed my last birthday, I think. I know I must be twenty-three but I don't remember turning twenty-three. I'm going to be twenty-four in August. Luke would've been two in September. He should've turned two in September.

Dolora's going to be thirty-nine. She's almost forty. I'm so scared of her dying soon. I don't want to lose her, not now. I'm so scared to lose her when she raised me and taught me how to love myself. I'm so scared to see her die because she should live so much longer, she deserves so much more.

I can't stand to lose anyone else.

8 May 1619

I had one of those nightmares last night about being alone, the ones where I wake up and everyone's gone and I know they've left because they don't care anymore and they didn't want to tell me because I'm too fragile so they get up and leave me alone. I hate those nightmare so much because they always take my baby with them and I'm left with an empty house and heart.

I hate these nightmares so much. I wish I wasn't so scared of losing them. Or, I wish I wasn't so dependent on their support. Or maybe I just don't want to face that someday I won't have them anymore.

11 May 1619

Candas was in town again today so I asked her about the invitation and she told me it was because she wishes we were all better friends. I suppose I wish we were better friends, too, but she scares me a little. (Grantt is scarier but then I don't think he does it on purpose.) I mean, I wouldn't mind going to a palace function so I guess we'll go. Most things don't feel like much of anything these days.

I wish so much I could see Luke's eyes get big when he saw the palace and the city. I bet he'd love it there: so many people to see, so many things to look at, so many foods to try, so many places to play, so many other children to meet. I wish he'd had the chance to make friends.

14 May 1619

It's odd how Patrik will walk me home every night after work. I might just ask him because I don't know and I want to know.

The daisies are in bloom and so are the lilacs and they're lovely and they smell wonderful but the daisies remind me of Luke playing with flowers Sigmun picked for him. Everything reminds me of my baby. I'm so afraid to forget him but I know I can't spend my whole life dwelling like this. It's bad for me. I'm just so scared to forget.

18 May 1619

Candas and her lot have been in town more and more often lately (or, in town for us considering they're from the city so to them we're the countryside). It's odd. I still detest Orvill for what he said back in March when I was younger but he usually doesn't say things like that anymore. Grantt remains somewhat bizarre and unnerving. Candas is energetic and…unique as ever. I don't think I like them much. At least Patrik has the decency to only mostly act like he's superior to us.

My love hasn't been breaking things but I notice him fidgeting and playing with little objects like pens and coins whenever he can. Simonn still copes with this sort of thing by not coping but I think having us around is helpful for him. Dolora seems like she's doing better but I know I can't be the only one in the world afraid to let people know how much it all hurts.

19 May 1619

I shouldn't still be crying but last night I found myself bawling again, too sad to do anything but cry. My love held me the way I hold him when he has nightmares and I fell asleep after he did (like always) but I couldn't bear to move. I'm so scared to lose them.

23 May 1619

At work today Catherine and I had one of those light little conversations we used to have all the time. I miss that. I miss feeling happy. We used to have nice little conversations all the time. Patrik says small talk is useless but I don't think he understands that it's got little pieces of deeper things in it. It's called small talk but no one does quite the same thing and you'd be surprised how much you could learn about a person from their small talk.

25 May 1619

Sigmun had one of his nightmares last night.

"Love, please wake up."

"I'm awake."

"Thank heaven," he said, and he let out a breath like he'd never breathed before. "It was another one of those awful nightmares."

I didn't say anything because I knew it wouldn't help.

"I was in a…it was sort of like a forest, but not. I knew in the dream it was a jungle. I was young, and you and Simonn and I were all playing while Mama made dinner. We worked in the day-we farmed, everyone did-but it was evening so we were playing. These people in green clothes and helmets, with these guns, they came and asked Mama is she was red. And she said no but I don't know if she was lying or not because they had guns. And then they left and I saw Mama sit down with her head in her hands and I was worried. And then…there was this light, and this huge sound, and everything went funny, and then there was fire everywhere and I was running…and you were-" He choked a little and I almost didn't want to hear it. "You were in pieces. It was so horrible I couldn't move and then I caught fire and I screamed and-" He choked again. "I woke up."

"Well, I'm all in one piece, for whatever it's worth."

"Quite a lot," he said, and he turned to lean against me like he does so I held him close and he fell asleep breathing quietly against my chest.

It's strange, the way he talks about his nightmares. It's like he's the age he was when the dream was happening. I wonder why.

28 May 1619

I have the impression that summer should be warm, and yet it feels chilly and uncomfortable. The trees are turning green and the flowers are blooming and the river is calming somewhat from the snowmelt that flooded it not long ago, but it is not warm like summer should be. At least, I don't think it is. I find myself doubting my perceptions lately, and I'm not sure why. Perhaps I'm just tired.

31 May 1619

I wonder sometimes about what it might be like to live in the palace. Perhaps if we lived there my baby would still be alive. I don't think there's a doctor in the world better than Dolora but there are medicines she laments she can't afford and I think perhaps if we had them my little Luke would still be here. He'd be sitting on my lap, playing with his new toys, laughing at whatever pleased him until he was tired and sleeping in his cradle. I'd never give up what I have here for their bland-tea life they have but I wish I could have their medicines to keep my baby alive.